You Can't and Maybe that's why it hurts
by kitkat1003
Summary: Vincent is a child who loves to play the piano and have fun. Unfortunately, he suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder, and his other self isn't as nice as he is. Trapped between truth and insanity, can he make it through the horrors of his life? This is based of the Second Chance AU and Rebornica's AU, and is not related to my other fics. Enjoy! P.S. ScottxVincent forever!
1. When you learned the truth

Vincent was..._different. _There was no other word to describe it. Since he was born with grey eyes, no pupils so you could never know if he was looking at you, and purple hair that stuck out everywhere, he had an air of uniqueness around him. Of course, later, people just thought he was weird looking.

Then, there were the "episodes".

Vincent would be playing with he toys, when his eyes would turn black with white pupils, and a creepy smile would stretch its way onto his face. He'd rip the heads off his toys, tear them to pieces, and then stop. His eyes would go back to gray, and he'd fix his toys, confused on why they were broken in the first place.

His first word was purple.

His second word was murder.

His parents finally took him to a psychologist, who diagnosed him with multiple personality disorder. He gave him medication to stop the episodes. Vincent took two pills a day, and was never allowed to go outside, in fear of hurting other children. Vincent hated every moment of it.

That is, until he finally went to Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.

It was the first time he'd been more than five miles from his house, or to the doctors, and it was magical. He loved Freddy with his songs, Chika with her pizza, and Bonnie with his bass.

Foxy was always his favorite.

He remembered seeing the Pirate for the first time, gray eyes shining silver in excitement. Nothing, not even his stupid disorder, could have made that day end badly. He had even met his first real friend there, Mikey. Mikey loved Foxy just as much as he did, and they both wished to be a part of his crew, so they set off on a quest together. As friends. The thought made Vincent smile.

* * *

1987.

* * *

He was playing with Mikey, eating pizza and talking about how to be part of Foxy's crew, when _he _came out. He whispered in his ear, voice warm, but icy cold in tone.

"_Hello Vincent," _He said, and Vincent froze at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

_No...please._

Why wasn't his mother here? She was always here when he needed medicine. Vince, at least, that's what _he _preferred to be called, grabbed his neck with cold, clammy hands, and Vincent didn't know why he could breathe but not speak. Soft chuckling reached his ears as he struggled, vocal cords constricting as they tried to make sound.

"Mikey...run!" He choked out, before his vision went black.

"_My turn."_

* * *

Black eyes with white pupils opened, and Vince took a breath of air in joy. It'd been so _long_ since he'd been in control. The boy, Mikey, was sitting beside him with a red sweater that had a cartoon Foxy on it, a red and orange bandanna, and a toy hook. He gave him a confused look.

"Hey, Vincent, did ya say somethin'?" He asked, and Vince nearly growled at the name of his goody-two-shoes counterpart, but regained his composure.

"Call me Vince. Also, I was just saying that I heard if you go past the line in Pirate's Cove and call Foxy your hero, he'll make you part of his crew!" He said in a fake sweet voice, flashing Mikey a smile. Mikey's eyes widened, and he immediately jumped out of the booth they were in.

"Thanks Vince! I'm gonna do that right now!" He yelled over his shoulder as he made his way to the pirate. Vince chuckled darkly, eyes narrowing and smile widening to become crookedly vicious.

"My pleasure."

* * *

Vincent's mom, ran through the crowds as fast as she could, desperately searching for her son. He was supposed to have taken his pill ten minutes ago, and she didn't know what would happen if she didn't get to him soon. She saw him standing by a booth, and almost cried in relief, before she gasped at the wide toothy grin and black eyes. She immediately grabbed him, shoving medication down his throat, tears falling down her cheeks because _no mother _should have to do this to their son, or have a son who squirmed away from in in spite and hatred. She hated every moment of it. Why did Vincent have to be trapped?

* * *

Vince struggled to get away from his mother's, though he hardly thought of her as such, grasp. He growled when the pill was shoved forcefully down his throat, trying to spit it out, but to no avail. He sighed, but looked to Pirate's Cove in excitement.

_At least I can still see the show._

He laughed, before his black eyes shut.

* * *

Vincent woke with a groan, looking to see his mother above him. His mind scrambled to remember what had happened. Vince whispered in his ear again, the voice so pleased it was sickening.

"_Don't forget to check Pirate's Cove!"_

Vincent gasped and whirled towards the cove.

_Mikey!  
_He ran, seeing his friend walk past the line and up to Foxy. He'd noticed the animatronic had seemed glitchy that day, so he'd tried to keep Mikey away from the cove to keep him safe. Just then, Foxy groaned, mouth flopping open as he fell.

Right on Mikey's head.

People screamed from all around as Foxy's jaw closed with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted everywhere, and Vincent ran to the fox, punching the jaw until it finally opened, Mikey's limp form falling to the ground, part of his brain still stuck in Foxy's teeth. Vincent looked down at his hands, which were stained in blood. _Mikey's_ blood. He fell to his knees and shook in fear and sadness, tears streaming down his face as blood pooled around, painting the floor red.

Somewhere in his head, Vince laughed.

* * *

Five years later:

When Scott first saw Vincent, it was through a window. His father was a doctor, and worked with mental patients often. Sometimes, when school was out, his father would take him to work, and Scott watched the patients come and go. They weren't really eye-catching, and it was kind of boring, but then a new patient appeared.

It was a ten year-old boy, just like himself.

He would have been lying if he said he hadn't been intrigued by the messy purple hair that was tied up in a small ponytail with a red rubber-band and silver eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing all at once. He pushed his brown hair back and squinted with green eyes as his father gave the kid a bottle of pills. The kid just nodded, walking away, a dead look in his eyes.

"Father, who was that child? What does he have?" He'd asked later during dinner, and his father seemed surprised that his son bothered to notice the new patient, but replied anyway.

"His name is Vincent. Apparently he has multiple personality disorder, and a very violent alter-ego," He said, and Scott's eyes widened in excitement because there was something _interesting _around now. He fiddled with his phone, which was bright red, and smiled.

* * *

The first time Vincent saw Scott, he was playing the piano. He did that a lot, since Mikey, because he didn't trust himself to go outside, to see anyone. He played a blues tune, mind floating through the notes as he felt himself be whisked away into a scene of tragedy.

"What are you doing?"

Vincent slammed his hands down on the keys in surprise, the song abruptly stopping, along with the scene. He turned to see a boy his age looking through a window with green eyes, tan skin and brown hair shining in the sunlight. He glared at the boy.

"I _was_ playing the piano, but you interrupted me," He replied coldly, but the boy seemed unfazed by his tone, the smile he'd worn since talking still ever-present on his face, contrasting Vincent's scowl.

"Oh, Cool! Just, why are you playing such a sad tune? Play something happy!" The boy replied, and Vincent looked to the floor in anger and shame.

"I don't know how," He mumbled, because he only played what he felt, before looking up to the boy again. "And besides, why should I play a happy tune? I have no happiness," He continued, mind flashing back to the red on his fingers, to the screams and pain and death that never left his hands. The boy simply smiled some more, and Vincent heard a click as the window opened, the boy jumping in and sitting next to him, making him scoot over in surprise.

"I could teach you. The name's Scott, by the way," Scott said, and something grew in his chest, something warm, but Vincent ignored it.

"Teach me to what? To be happy or play happy music?" He asked, and Scott laughed, grabbing him and putting him a hug, and Vincent couldn't help but smile.

"Both."

Vincent put his hands on the keys, and played.

* * *

The first time Scott saw Vincent scared, was when they were playing.

He had made up a game of pirates, which for some reason Vincent was apprehensive to play. Yet, when they got started, Vincent was the most excited and played and laughed in joy. Scott noticed that Vincent didn't laugh often, but it was soft and sweet. They were trying to find the lost treasure of zombie sea land, which was a golden brain. Then, Vincent froze. Scott watched for a moment, confused, thinking that maybe he had thought of something cool. He backed away at the look of pure _terror _that made its way onto Vincent's face. Vincent was clawing at an invisible force, and was trying to reach into his pocket at the same time. Scott watched as a bottle of pills fell to the ground.

_He has multiple personality disorder._

Scott sprang into action, grabbing the bottle and opening it, taking out a pill and dropping into Vincent's open mouth. Vincent gulped it down with difficulty, dropping into a sitting position while gasping for breath.

"Thanks," He muttered. Scott looked towards him warily.

"You okay? What happened?" He asked, and Vincent growled.

"Vince tried to get out," He replied, getting up and pacing back and forth. Scott cocked his head to the side.

"Vince?" He questioned, and Vincent grabbed his hair, pulling at it.

"He's… the other person in my head. He's not very nice. He wants to paint the whole world red," Vincent replied coldly, and Scott remembered his father's words.

"_...a very violent alter-ego."_

Vincent sighed, laying down on the grass. "I guess you don't want to be friends with me anymore," He said, voice resigned. Scott was shocked at the words.

"No! Of course not! Why would you think that?!" He yelled, and Vincent yelled, and Vincent gave him a tired look, one much to aged for someone so young.

"No one else has given me reason to believe otherwise," He replied. Scott grabbed Vincent hands in his own.

"I won't leave you. I _like _being your friend, and I won't leave," He said, eyes full of determination.

"I promise."

* * *

The first time Scott met Vince, they were in his house.

Vincent was petting Scott's cat, Phone. Scott never knew why he named his cat that, but Vincent didn't ask anyway. Scott grew bored at the silence.

"Wanna play hide and seek?" He asked, and Vincent nodded. Since he suggested the game, Vincent hid first. Scott searched around, and froze, hearing soft laughter. He jumped at the howls of pain coming from his cat. Running to the living room, he gasped at the sight. Vincent was squatting next to his cat, whose stomach was cut open, guts spilling out over the floor. A knife was next to the limp feline, and Vincent's hands reached for it as he turned to see him. Scott shrunk at the black eyes with white pupils that stared through him, and the wide smile.

"Vi.. V.. Vincent?" He stammered, and the smile disappeared, a growl escaping Vincent's throat.

"My. Name. Is. Vince," Vincent, no, _Vince _said, eyes narrowing, and Scott shook at the tone. Vince walked toward him, spinning the knife in his hand.

_I'm gonna die!_

"Why don't we play a game?" The smile was back, wide and soft, eerily stretched from ear to ear. Scott took a step back, making himself as small as possible as Vince leaned in, face nearly touching his.

Doing what any rational person would have done in his situation, he punched Vince in the face.

Vince fell over onto the ground, knocked out. Scott breathed heavily, raising a hand to his chest to calm himself. Vince groaned, and Scott froze again. Vince looked up at him with wide silver eyes.

_Silver is safe, right?_"Scott?" Vincent questioned, and the voice was too much like Vince, like a madman's. Vincent, or Vince, because Scott couldn't tell anymore, got up and reached out, and Scott recoiled from the hand. Vincent stared, eyes full of hurt and confusion. Scott turned around.

And he ran away.

* * *

Vincent couldn't comprehend the pain he was feeling.

_Scott left me._

It wasn't fair! His only friend got taken away from him. _Again! _He walked to his house, eyes down cast.

"_I told you that you would always be alone, but you never listened."_

Vincent took a pill in response to Vince's claim, growling under his breath as the voice he loathed disappeared. He felt his anger grow as his thoughts spun.

_He promised! He promised he wouldn't leave!_

Tears stung at his eyes as he walked blindly to his house. It didn't matter though, because he knew the way. He wrinkled his nose in disgust when a smell hit him.

_Smoke?_

He snapped his head up, gasping and staring at the burning house that was his own.

_Mom! Dad!_

Faster than he'd ever moved before, he ran to the house, screaming and sobbing as the firemen tried fruitlessly to put out the flames that engulfed his home.

Inside himself, his heart burned like the fire.

Yet, he felt numbingly cold.


	2. Now being given another chance

Scott sighed, looking over the patient analysis paper. It didn't look good, but then, that was why they called him.

_Multiple Personality Disorder, huh._

He was the leading psychologist in the country, known for fixing even the worst cases of nutjobs. Multiple personality disorder was the easiest for him to fix, since… he knew someone like that in his childhood. In fact, Vincent was the reason he became a psychlogist. He had left him seventeen years ago, but maybe he could help others with the same issues. He never asked for names, because he wanted the patient to trust him enough to tell him themselves. He looked over the analysis again, seeing the medicine the patient used.

_Not very effective for a person this bad. Might_ _need to prescribe something else._

The patient had gone through over twenty other doctors, all who said he was a lost cause. He smirked at that. Nothing was a lost cause to him. This would be his toughest job yet, however, seeing as no other doctor would take the job.

_Depression, self hatred, guilt, thoughts of suicide. Jeez, this guy is messed up._

It seemed that he would have to bunk with the patient, monitoring him at all times, since his disorder had caused a rather violent attack. It was all government funded, including his plane trip to his home town, where the patient lived.

_Haven't been here in years._

He looked up as he finally reached the door, his makeshift office. The apartment he would stay in with the patient was only five minutes away, so it was pretty nice, though a bit dirty. He took a deep breath, put on his best neutral face, and opened the door.

The first thing he saw was purple hair.

It was long and messy, held in a low ponytail by a red hair band. The next thing he saw was the brown skin. The patient was looking out the window, away from him, so it was hard to see the skin, but he managed. The last thing was the eyes. Those one-of-a-kind silver eyes that were impossible to understand.

_Well, I guess I won't have to wait for a name._

"It...it's you," He said, because he couldn't say anything else as his patient turned to him.

"Yeah," Vincent said, voice deeper than when Scott had last heard it. Though, it had been a long time.

"It's me."

* * *

Vincent couldn't believe his luck. Out of all the people who could've been his psychiatrist, it had to be Scott. He hadn't even known that Scott was a psychiatrist! His anger boiled in his head, but he kept his face as neutral as possible. Scott look flustered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, eyes looking at anything but him.

"So~ uhhh..Hi?" Scott began, and the anger was burning more now, tearing at his insides, and the little voice inside his head was screaming at him to kill, to make Scott suffer.

It took all his strength to ignore the urge.

_He thinks that we can be friends again, even after what he did._

"Hello, Dr. Scott. I take it you're hear to 'cure me', as the others tried and failed to do?" He replied, tone mocking and cold. It didn't matter. Scott deserved it. Scott visibly flinched, before taking a deep breath and smiling.

Vincent hated his smile.

"Yes, actually. I've never failed a patient before, and you're no different. I'll fix you up so you can go on with your life. I promise," Scott declared.

_Lies, LIES, **LIES!**_

Vincent laughed. It was bitter and sad, rage on the edge of it.

"Sorry, but I don't take much stock in promises," He began, before the anger burned through him again, and he finally glared at the man before him. "Especially yours."

With that, he turned back to the window, watching the sunset.

* * *

Scott was baffled at his old friend's behavior. Sure, he'd left him, and he knew there would be some tension and anger, but not this much coldness. He stared at the bags underneath Vincent's eyes, the green sweater, the brown pants and black shoes. The Vincent he knew was never this closed off. Of course, the Vincent he knew was seventeen years younger.

"Uhh… Vincent? Do you still play the piano?" He asked, trying to get some talk out of him, because the silence was too boring and lonely. He had loved the way Vincent could play, how his fingers practically flew from key to key, making beautiful music.

"No. I haven't played it in seventeen years," Vincent replied, tone even colder than before. Scott sighed. What was wrong with Vincent?

"Why are you so mad at me?" He asked, jumping back as Vincent whirled to face him, eyes holding a fiery glow of rage as they glared harshly at him.

"_WHY?!_ Because you _left me!_ You promised you wouldn't leave, but you_ lied!_ On that very same day, my parent _burned to deat_h, and for the next _seventeen years_, I wondered _why_ everyone _left_!" Vincent bellowed, breathing heavily as tears filled his eyes, but he never let them fall. "I've made four real friends in my life. One was _killed_, the other was you, who left me, the third was my wife, who _died_ at childbirth, and the last was my daughter, my sweet Violet, who_ Vince_ stabbed in the arm repeatedly, and has been taken from my custody," He said, hands shaking. His voice cracked as he talked about his daughter.

_Violet. What a fitting name._

"Look, let's just go to the place we're sharing, okay?" Vincent said, voice tired and sad. Scott nodded.

_Well, at least I learned about the violent action. Kinda._

"Sure. I'll drive."

* * *

Vincent sighed, looking out the window of the car. It was red, just like Scott's phone. The man had an obsession over the color. Hell, even his shirt was red. His thoughts went to his daughter, his sweet Violet flower.

_Violet, do you still love me?_

His head screamed at him that she would never love him, but his heart foolishly disagreed. He didn't remember much of that night, the one night he had ran out of pills, and had no time to get more. He had went to his work instead of getting more, afraid of being fired, before blacking out. The next thing he knew bloody children surrounded him, including his own, and he had desperately tried to break free of Vince's hold. The thoughts surrounded him again.

_The children are hurt. Vince stop! I'll stop you!_

**_You can't._**

_Violet screamed as the knife went into her arm, blood spurting out of it._

_"Daddy! Stop!"_

_Stop! I have to help them, save them. HELP THEM. SAVE THEM._

**_Youcan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYoucan'tYou-_**

"We're here!" Scott's voice dragged him away from that night. He nodded, opening the door and getting out, looking up to see the dingy apartment complex they were to live in.

"Nice place," He mumbled sarcastically, and Scott laughed.

"Yeah, it kinda sucks, but it's only temporary. Just 'till you're deemed 'sane' enough to live on your own," He said, and Vincent scoffed at the word.

_Sane. When have I ever known the feeling of sanity?_

He walked up the stairs behind Scott, watching as they went to the apartment.

_555? Really?_

When Scott finally found the key-cursing for five minutes trying to find it-he opened the door, revealing a decent sized apartment, with a kitchen-Vincent nearly cried when he saw the stainless steel toaster-two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a small living room. "See, it's not so bad. Pretty nice, actually," Scott commented, and Vincent had to agree, though he'd never admit it. At least not to Scott. He sighed, walking to his bedroom.

_Purple? Really?_

The entire room was purple, including the bedsheets. He took out his things. He didn't have much, besides toiletries. Just a few books, a journal, pictures, a-

_A picture of Violet._

She was so beautiful. She inherited his hair, and his love of Foxy. She always wore a purple and yellow bandanna around her neck, and a orange shirt that had a cartoon picture of Foxy's face on it. Her eyes were silver like his, but only the pupils.

_I miss seeing them shine._

Vince ruined her. He ruins everything. Vincent growled, falling face first onto his pillow. He felt like a helpless child, stuck in a world with no help. Scott walked in.

"Uhh, Vincent? Wanna talk about why you're here?" He asked, and Vincent froze.

_He doesn't know?!_

Of course he wouldn't know. Scott probably wouldn't get near him if he knew.

"I...I ran out of pills on day, right before I had to go to work," He began, voice shaking, because he didn't want to talk about it, but he had to.

_Get it over with. Then, Scott will leave, and you can die alone._

"I brought Violet to work with me, but I didn't have time to get more medicine. I was scared of being fired, and this was the only job that would take me, so I thought I would be fine."

_I **hoped** I would be fine._

"Right before work ended, I blacked out," He let out a shuddering breath, shaking.

_It's okay. You can do this. Just keep talking._

"I don't remember much. Just flashes."

_A boy with brown hair screaming as his hands were stabbed by needles, forcefully strung up like a puppet. A girl in a yellow dress, stomach bleeding. A shy boy in purple, buckteeth cut out. A boy in a suit, legs mauled by deep gashes. Violet, backing away as the knife drew closer to her arm._

_"Daddy?"_

"I apparently took out an old suit and lured five kids, including Violet-" Sobs racked his body for only a moment, tears falling down his cheeks.

_"Daddy, you're hurting me!"_

_So many **screams**._

"And I stabbed them with different blades in the back room, before the night guard found me and tazed me, calling 911 afterwards," He finally finished, his hands shook, and he got up, walking to the bathroom, ignoring Scott's call. His hands felt sticky, red. Vince's laugh rang in his head, but was drowned out by screams.

_Blood on my hands. Get it off. Violet's blood pouring on them. Get it **off!**_

The water burned his hands, but he didn't care.

"Vincent? Vincent, stop," Scott's voice reached his ears, but it was muffled by the screams.

_The children are screaming why isn't anyone helping them **make it stop.**_

His hands were dragged away from the sink, and he was carefully set on the couch. Soft hands, so pure, unlike his.

_Scott, why did you stay? You were supposed to leave._

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault, it was Vince's, okay? I'll make you better, I promise." The words were so comforting, so kind. They held no lies, only a promise. He smiled as a blanket was draped over him, his eyes sliding shut. He felt warm, loved. When was the last time he felt this way?

Maybe he could believe in promises.

Just this once.


	3. You might Break

Violet hummed softly as she waited for dinner to be done. Mr. Mikey was really nice, but he could only make microwavables, and Ms. Doll was finishing up the laundry. She had been living with the two since Daddy had the accident one night, but she didn't blame him. Mean Mr. Vince had hurt her, not her Daddy. Her Daddy would never hurt her.

"Mr. Mikey, can I go and see Daddy?" She asked, and she winced at the aggravated sigh that came after.

"I don't know where your Daddy is kid, and besides, your dad hurt you, okay?" Mr. Mikey replied, and Violet put on her most indignant scowl. It wasn't that intimidating, but it made Mr. Mikey stop for a moment.

"Daddy didn't hurt me! Mr. Vince did!" She yelled, because she was _tired_ of _everyone_ blaming her dad. "And Daddy just moved in next door," She said proudly, crossing her arms.

_That _made Mr. Mikey's eyes widen.

"WHAT?!" He exclaimed, causing Violet to jump. She rubbed her sore arm, the bandages still covering the stitches.

"You didn't see? He came with another man in a red shirt," She said. Mr. Mikey glared at the wall separating the apartments. "Sooo~, can I go see Daddy?" She asked again, and Mikey placed her dinner in front of her. Pizza, her favorite!

"Maybe in a bit, kid. I gotta go meet our new neighbors," He said, before yelling at Ms. Doll that he was going next door. He slammed the door behind him in anger, and Violet sighed.

_Did I do something wrong?_

She ate her pizza in silence.

* * *

Scott ruffled Vincent's hair softly as the man slept on the couch. A worried look planted itself on his face.

_What happened to you Vincent?_

He got up, walking towards the kitchen, when he heard a knocking on the door. he swiftly went over and opened, only to be met with a furious man glaring at him piercing blue eyes.

"Uhhh, Hello? Can I help you?" Scott asked, confused. The man simply pushed him out of the way, walking inside, jumping at the sight of Vincent sleeping on the couch.

"Why you-" He never finished, but simply walked over to Vincent.

_Oh no you don't._

Scott grabbed the man by the back of the shirt, pulling him out of the apartment and pulling the door shut behind him.

"What the hell's wrong with you?! You think you can just come into my apartment and hurt my patient?!" Scott shouted, wincing internally at the fact that he couldn't call Vincent friend.

_Not yet. I'll wait._

"Patient?! That guy's a psycho! He hurt his own _daughter_! She has fucking _stitches_ in her fucking arm because of him!" The man yelled, red faced and angry.

_He doesn't even know the whole story!  
_"You think I don't know that!? You don't know anything about Vincent, okay?! So just leave him the fuck alone! He hates himself enough as it is without people like you making it worse!" He yelled back, hands shaking fists at his sides as he thought of the scalding water and sobs that shook Vincent's body when he spoke of the incident, the pain that filled dull eyes. The man stopped, face filling with shock.

"What do you mean?" He asked, and Scott sighed again, before replying.

"I'll tell you if you stop trying to hurt him," He growled, sticking out his hand. "Scott."

"Mike Schmidt," The man replied, taking the hand and shaking it. "Come over to my place, we'll talk there," Mike continued, and the walked inside to his apartment. It was slightly nicer than the one he and Vincent lived in. Scott, sat on a chair at the table, and Mike sat across from him. "Okay, now tell me what you meant." Scott froze.

_Well, fuck._

* * *

Mike hated waiting, and the silence that followed his demand was getting more aggravating by the minute.

_Was this just a ruse? Some trick to make me leave the psycho alone?_

He remembered how angry he was when he saw Vincent sleeping peacefully on the couch, because Violet still had stitches and nightmares, nightmares that would have her screaming and kicking until they woke her up, and sobbing when she was awake.

"Well, uhhh… Vincent has Multiple Personality Disorder," Scott finally spoke, and Mike gave him a confused look in response. "It's like having another person in your head, who wants control," He continued.

"Wait, so like, mind control?" Mike asked, because jeez, this was confusing as fuck.

"Umm, yeah, except the person trying to get control is always there, and can be nice, or violent, like Vincent's other personality, Vince," Scott replied.

_Vince, really? How original._

His thoughts moved to what Violet had said.

"_Daddy didn't hurt me! Mr. Vince did!"_

Had she known the entire time? Was that why she didn't hate him? He looked to Scott again, shaking himself from his thoughts, peering curiously as Scott's eyes seemed to get much older.

"I've cured patients all around the country, but I've never met someone as guilt-ridden and hurt as Vincent. And I intend to fix him, no matter what," There was a kind of resoluteness in his voice, something Mike rarely heard, something he respected. Scott's eyes went wide, and he jumped off of his chair. "Shit, I left Vincent alone!" He exclaimed, and ran out the door. Mike followed him, because he seriously didn't want Scott to die because of Vincey, or whatever the fuck his name was.

"Stop, please! Don't hurt her! _Violet!"_

Screams came from next door, and Mike ran in to see Vincent squirming in his sleep, tears streaming down his cheeks as Scott fruitlessly tried to awaken him. "I'm sorry! I don't want to! Vince, _stop!"_

Vince. So that was the name? His memory sucked, so, it was hard for him to remember things. He had still been angry at Vincent, even after learning the truth, but it was really hard to stay mad at a twenty-seven(was that the right age?) year-old man who was sobbing, begging for his other personality to stop hurting children.

"Vincent, wake _up!" _Scott yelled,desperation clear in his voice as he shook Vincent again, and Mike watched as Vincent gasped, grey eyes opening. He shook, wrapping his arms around himself, looking up right at _him_, eyes so piercing Mike actually took a step back. Vincent got up, walking towards him. "Are you the one who has Violet? I saw you at the trial," He began, and Scott put a hand on his shoulder, causing Vincent to flinch and turn to look at him. Mike watched as the vulnerable man stood up straight, eyes hardening as though he woke up from a fantasy into harsh reality, and was facing it dead on. Mike knew that feeling. "Sorry about that," He mumbled, walking to the kitchen, searching noisily through the cabinets. "Do we not have fuckin bread?" Vincent mumbled again, sitting in a chair at the table with a thump. Scott scratched the back of his neck nervously again(was that a usual thing?) and sighed.

"Well Mike," He said, voice tired and defeated. "Meet Vincent."

* * *

Vincent wasn't in a very good mood. Nightmares of the children, begging, pleading for him to stop, plagued his sleep. He never could stop.

_Knives glowed silver in the dim lighting, some old and rusty, some clean and sharp, all stained red._

To make it worse, he couldn't even make toast! That was his relaxation helper! He made a mental note to make Scott go to the store and pick up some bread. He looked up at the new guy. He looked...familiar. Had he seen those blue eyes before?

_Glaring blue eyes, the crackle of electricity, the shock and the fading light as darkness enveloped him whole._

In an instant, he was up and running, sobbing into the man's-Mike's-shoulder, embarrassment pulling at the back of his mind but the sadness and pain held in his heart for months-four-pushing it back.

"Thank you, thank you, _thank you,_" He mumbled, just loud enough that Mike could hopefully hear. "You stopped him, me, from hurting her more, right?" He didn't know if he was making sense, if he was just rambling, but his emotions were wild and he could only remember the eyes, the blue eyes that reminded him of the night of pain and regret. "I know I'm not allowed to be around her, but could you tell her I'm sorry, please? I need her to know," Mike pushed him back, a somewhat disturbed look on his face, nearly covered by pity. Scott patted his shoulder, turning him around to face him.

"Hey, Vincent, you wanna play some music? I remember the piano used to calm you down," Vincent nearly laughed at how Scott's tone was one he used to use on Violet when she was scared, or when he was trying to calm a puppy he had found on the streets one night.

_Violet prefers cats._

Funny, how it was used on him, even though he was perfectly fine.

_Right?_

Scott led him over to the piano, and Vincent couldn't believe that he had missed it, though he had been a bit distracted by the toaster. His hands were set gently on the keys. He hadn't played in so long.

_It's been so long…_

Notes floated through his mind and into his fingers that flew across the keys, blocking out everything else. Words poured out of his mouth, heart and soul immersed in the song.

"I don't what I was thinking, leaving my child behind. Now I suffer the curse, and now I am blind~. With all this anger, guilt, and sadness coming to haunt me forever, I can't wait for the cliff at the end of the river,"

_When will I be able to end my suffering?_

The notes were coming faster now, and his hands moved in a flurry to reach them, Vince's cackles somehow silenced as he played on.

"It's been so long, since I last have seen my girl. Lost to my monster, to the man behind the slaughter. Since you've been gone, I've been singing this stupid song So I could ponder, the sanity of your father."

_I'm not sane, am I?_

The tune was dark and cold, like his story, spreading out the sins he committed out for the two men to see. Vincent didn't know if they were even listening, but he didn't care, letting himself be lost to the music. The pictures disappeared, and he smiled softly. Music always did help him.

_Scott remembered._

"I wish I lived in the present, with the gift of my past mistakes~, but the future keeps luring in like a pack of snakes.

Your sweet little eyes-

_Silver, just like mine. Does she hate the fact that it's something we share?_

Your little smile-

_It's missing some teeth, but I love it anyways. She would complain about it, though._

is what I remember.

Those fuzzy memories mess with my temper."

_Vince, I'll __**kill **__you for what you made me do!_

"Justification is killing me, but killing isn't justified What happened to my girl, I'm terrified.

_Terrified to ask, terrified of the answer._

It lingers in my mind, and the the thought keeps on getting bigger.

"**I'm sorry my sweet baby, I wish I'd been there."**

The rest of the song played out, and Vincent felt empty as he finished, silence filling the room. He faintly felt Scott push a glass of water and a pill into each hand, and he mechanically took the medication.

_Violet, my little flower. When will I see you again?_

He was pushed toward his room, being laid on his bed, and tucked in.

_I'm not a child!_

He was too tired to voice his indignant thoughts, the emotional toil on his mind sucking the energy out of his body as well. Scott's green eyes stared down at him warmly, full of...worry? Why would Scott be worrying about him? He sighed, falling asleep.

* * *

Mike didn't know whether to be angry or disturbed or sad. Vincent wasn't the man he saw on the podium, the man who stood tall as angry parents screamed at him. Though, he had looked unstable once.

_He watched as a tall man in a sharp black suit walked up to Vincent, who stood unflinchingly at the glares, including his own._

"_Vincent, do you believe you were __**sane**_ _enough to commit this act?" The man asked, and the jury erupted in whispers at the question. The judge slammed the gavel onto the desk._

"_What pertinence is this to the case?" The judge asked, and the man smiled kindly._

"_I simply believe we should have all the facts, since Vincent has done nothing to raise the thought that he would harm someone, let alone children, including his own. I would like to have motive, sir," He replied, and the judge nodded. "So, Vincent, will you answer the question?" The man asked again. Vincent laughed bitterly, head in his hands._

"_You really think I'm sane?" He whispered, but it echoed throughout the silent room. "I don't even remember that night. Just flashes. All I know is that I hurt my daughter, my sweet Violet flower, and I can't even see if she's okay!" His voice was getting louder, more desperate, harsh and cold. He laughed again, throwing his head back and pulling at his hair. He shook, and stared at the crowd with wide, pupil-less eyes, and smiled. _

"_Do you __**really **__think __**anyone **__could be sane enough to do what I did?"_

After that, Mike had given his testimony and left. It was odd, how the man had easily broken down in mere seconds when he, though, Scott did seem to know what he was doing.

"I knew Vincent when he was a kid. I never knew he could get this bad, and I saw what he could become firsthand," Scott said, as though reading his thoughts. "He's great on the piano, yeah?" He asked, and Mike chuckled.

"More like Mozart. The guy's amazing," He replied, because he had stood shocked when the man had played. One line had scared him though.

"_It won't be long before I become a puppet~"_

His vision had flickered then, like it did sometimes, since the accident. He could 'see' things sometimes, like spirits (kind of, he only saw his dead mother once, and she waved at him, and his father flipped him off before disappearing. Dick.), auras, and other weird shit like that.

Vincent's aura was _wrong._

He could see a soft purple aura, one that was innocent and kind, that was obviously Vincent's. In the corner of his eye, he could see Scott's warm emerald green aura. It was tinged with dark blue sadness for Vincent, turning it turquiose at the edges. On Vincent's arms and legs, however, there were strings of black aura wrapped around his joints and neck, like a puppet. The strings went all the way down to the floor, connecting to the paddles that would be used to control the puppet, but instead the paddles hung limp on the ground. They were dripping blood on the floor, but it was obvious that Scott couldn't see, so it was just blood from other auras.

_Whoever is the other person in Vincent's head is sick._

In fact, now that he thought about it, the reason he had found the kids was because he saw a purple aura in pain, along with a few others, one bright yellow, another calm blue, one fiery red, a soft maroon one, and a light purple one that was tinged with silver. When he went to investigate, he saw Vincent, or Vince, now that he knew about the two personalities, and nearly reeled back in how black and soulless the aura was.

It was the same colored aura as the strings.

Of course, he had tased the man, despite the appalling aura, and called the authorities, ripping his shirt apart to bandage wounds, pulling one kids down from strings that hung him up by his skin. Violet was inconsolable, rocking back and forth, muttering things he couldn't hear. The other kids were eerily silent, waiting for the ambulance to arrive with dead eyes. Shaking his head out of the memory, Mike checked the time.

10:30pm

_Shit!_

He jumped up, talking quickly to Scott that he had to leave, before running to his apartment, flinging open the door.

Doll was waiting patiently for him on the couch, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

_Fuck. I'm dead._

* * *

Scott sighed, rubbing his face in his hands. He thought it would be hard, but Vincent was _fucked up. _Though, he shouldn't have been surprised. Stabbing your kid isn't what you want to see when you think about parenthood memories.

_Damn. So much for the best psychiatrist-er-psychologist in the country._

Psychologist, psychiatrist, what did it matter? He was medically trained, so he could technically be a psychiatrist, even without the degree. That was another reason he was hired to the job, he could understand prescriptions and what medications do. He went and got out his laptop, opening his email.

_Crap, spam, crap, crap, what's this?_

An unknown email popped up in his inbox, and he clicked on it.

_Dear Scott,_

_So, you're the new shrink that's going to 'fix' Vincent. If I were you, I'd leave right now. That man is a monster that deserves to rot in Hell. Now, I understand that you are just doing your job, so I'll let you off if you leave now. However, if you choose to stay, I'll be forced to take more drastic measures. No matter what, Vincent will __**pay.**_

_~Marionette_

Scott quickly saved the email and sent it to the police department. He sighed, leaning back on the couch.

_**What **__have I got myself into?_

* * *

**Hi! The song I used was _It's been so long _by The Living Tombstone, though I made a few tweaks. Also, I noticed in the last chapter that I said that Scott was both a Psychologist and a Psychiatrist. He is actually a Psychologist with some medical training, but not enough for him to be a licensed Psychiatrist. Sorry if you got confused.**

**P.S. Mike and Doll are here! Jeremy's gonna show up too later on.**


	4. But people will be there to fix you

Vince sat in silence, teeth clenched tightly together at the cage of medication that trapped him. He hated waiting, but he could manage.

_Those children. Their screams were my favorite. The taste of blood was intoxicating._

The new guy, Scott, would ruin everything. He had scared the kid off a long time ago for a reason! Vincent was _his! _No one else could have him! He already got rid of that Mikey kid, but now he was back too! Would _anything _go his way? An idea sprang into his mind.

_I'll let them fix Vincent up, let them put their guard down…_

What would he use? Would it still be knives, or maybe a taser on Mikey so the kid knew how it felt. Knives would of course be used on the girl again, though he might use some other torture, like branding. Vincent would be watching, and he wanted to give him a good show.

_Then I'll kill them all! Their blood will fall like rain!_

The blood would pour, like a beautiful painting. Red, his favorite color, with purple a close second, something he and _Vincent_ both shared.

Vincent would run out of pills one day. Or, he would forget. Vince was the one who gave him a bad memory, after all. It was only a matter of time, and despite his impatience, Vince would wait.

_Little Vincent will break all over again. Then, he will be __**mine!**_

Vince chuckled, before throwing his head back in maniacal laughter, envisioning the deaths of all the people in his way. The cackles echoed in the silent prison, and he grinned wide.

_I hope you can hear me, my little puppet._

_**You will **__**always**_ _**be mine.**_

* * *

Vincent woke up with a gasp, sweat covering his brow. Vince had woke him up with his laughter, and he got up, getting out a pair of clothes. His outfit was dirty anyway. Putting on a light blue turtleneck(all of his shirts were turtlenecks), he took out some tan slacks and put those on too.

_My little puppet._

Vincent shivered at the words. He hadn't heard everything, just the last bits, but he knew Vince was up to something. He walked out to see Scott, hair frazzled, sitting at the small table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes were half lidded as he mechanically drank from his cup.

"Mornin' Scott," Vincent chuckled, and he got a grunt in response. He looked through the cupboards, frowning.

_Right, we still don't have bread. Well, no breakfast for me._

He sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee, before slumping into a chair. Scott, now fully awake, noticed his behavior, and frowned.

"Yo, what's wrong? Aren'tcha going to have breakfast?" He asked, and Vincent sighed.

"We don't have bread, so I can't have toast. I want _toast,_" He responded angrily. Scott smiled, getting up.

"Well, then let's go get some," He replied, and Vincent jumped up, running out the door.

* * *

Scott walked into the store with a sigh, looking at Vincent with a bemused expression. He had insisted on sitting in the cart, and had somehow fit, making him look oddly like a toddler. Vincent looked up at him with a childish smile.

"Run down the aisle and let the cart go!" He begged, eyes wide and playful. Scott laughed, shaking his head, and went down the bread aisle. Vincent grabbed every brand of bread on the shelf, hugging them to his chest. The loaves covered him, and Scott grabbed a few more things they needed, like cream, pasta noodles and sauce, instant ramen, coffee, milk, ect.

_Jeez, Vincent must be rich to have the government give me a credit card._

Of course, he didn't know how he was being paid, but it didn't really matter. Vincent was happy and playing around, building little pyramids with the food, and sometimes they would fall over on him, burying him until you could only see his hair and eyes.

_Well, some patients do regress into childlike states. Though, Vincent __**is**_ _pretty adorable like this._

He finally made it to check-out, buying all the food and getting Vincent out of the cart. Vincent whined as Scott told him he had to get out, but obliged. He fiddled with the radio all the way home, and Scott was glad he bought ear-plugs.

He figured he'd be using them a lot from now on.

* * *

Vincent smiled as the smell of fresh toast filled the apartment. He _loved _toast. He took out the two steaming pieces from the toaster, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his hands at how hot they were. He set them down on a plate on the table.

_Now all I need is butter._

He took out some, grabbing a knife from one of the drawers.

_The cool metal blade, glistening and sharp._

He shook his head out of the memory, though his hand quivered in the slightest, and put some butter on the knife, reaching towards the pieces of toast on the table.

_The silver edge stained red with blood, reaching for a terrified child._

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter, and Vincent held his shaking hand to his chest, trying to slow his fast breaths and rapidly beating heart. "Vincent, you okay?" Scott asked from the living room. Vincent didn't reply, the room growing darker as images flashed through his head.

_Screaming children, blades piercing skin, drowning in blood._

"_Daddy, stop!"_

_Vince's laughter growing louder, purple security guard outfit drenched in red liquid, knives strewn carelessly around the room._

"Vincent!"

Scott's arms wrapped their way around his shoulders, pushing the memories away from Vincent's eyes. His hands still shook, and they felt sticky. He was afraid to look at them, afraid to see how red they were, how impure.

_**You will **__**always**_ _**be mine.**_

"Hey, don't think about that night, okay? Want me to butter your toast for you?" Scott's voice was soothing, and Vincent sighed and nodded. The thoughts were fading quicker as he focused on the toast and how the way Scott was holding the knife was wrong, but the way he was holding it made more images disappear.

_He's not holding it the way __**I **__did._

Somehow, that was a welcome comfort. He took a bite of his toast and smiled, the rest of the memories long gone.

After all, _nothing _could ruin toast.

* * *

Mike sat in a chair in the security office, eyes sharp and alert, looking for any signs of another abduction. It would be a long time until he would be able to relax, even during the day, since he had taken over for Vincent. Double shifts took a toll on his mind, and he rubbed his scars with a sigh. There was a knock on the door, and a kid, about nineteen, walked in, wearing a green sweater that reminded Mike of Vincent's attire.

_Is it the same sweater?_

His vision flickered, and he saw that his aura was light green, much more innocent than Scott's, but a lot colder.

"Umm, Hello? I'm here for the night watch job. The boss told me to come here for training," The kid began, and Mike raised an eyebrow in surprise. Another sigh escaped him as he got up, sticking out his hand.

"Mike, nice to meet you," He said gruffly, and the kid quickly took his hand, shaking it softly, before letting go and cradling both hands at his chest.

"Jeremy," he replied, shaking slightly. Mike rubbed his face with yet another sigh.

_You have __**got **__to be fucking kidding me._

* * *

Vincent walked into the shower and sighed contentedly at the warm water that washed over him. Scrubbing himself clean, his mind wandered to Scott.

_Maybe...maybe I can forgive him. For leaving. Maybe we can be friends again._

Friendship was such a foreign feeling to him, since that night, but Scott is...different from the other doctors. Scott cared. He payed attention to how he felt, and understood. Scott remembered what he preferred, and listened.

_Scott...Scott is a good man._

A good friend.

He shook his thoughts away, washing his messy hair. He froze when the water turned red, covering his body.

_Their blood will fall like rain!_

Vince's voice rang through his head, and his jumped out of the shower with a yelp, putting on a towel and wrapping it around his waist as quick as possible and running out of the bathroom. He shook in his room, and heard footsteps.

_N...No! Scott can't see me like this!_

Regardless of his thoughts, the door opened.

* * *

Scott had heard the bathroom door slam open, and then Vincent's door slam close. Walking to Vincent's room, he opened the door to see his half naked friend-_patient-_shivering on the floor.

"Vincent, you alright?" He asked gently, walking slowly towards him, like he would a frightened animal.

_Vincent would be a type of cat. Maybe~...a puma?_

He set those thoughts aside and went back to the shaking Vincent who was backing ever so slowly away from him.

"T...the w...wa...water t...tu...turned red!" He stuttered, and Scott took notice of the redish water that dripped off Vincent's hair. He sighed, looking over the skinny form of his patient, cringing slightly at the ribs visible through his skin, and the scars on his chest, _and_ the slash marks on his neck.

_No wonder he prefered turtlenecks._

He picked Vincent up off the floor walking him to the bathroom and opened the door, recoiling at the sight of red water pouring out of the showerhead. He looked it over, giving out an aggravated sigh.

"It's just rust. The stupid owners didn't get the right showerhead, he grumbled, showing the red flakes on the metal. Vincent's face flushed red in embarrassment.

"Sorry," He mumbled, and Scott gave him a small smile.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Why don't you dry yourself off, put on some clothes, and I'll run to the hardware store to get a new showerhead," He replied, and Vincent nodded. Scott sighed again, walking to his car.

The picture of Vincent's scars never left him, even when he got to the store.

* * *

Mike sighed and walked the few steps from his apartment to Scott's, knocking on the door. He didn't know why, per say, that he was introducing Jeremy and Doll to the two men living next to them, but he felt they should know who was living there. At least Doll should. The agreement of fostering Violet came with the restriction that Violet could not be in the same room as Vincent until a psychologist gave the okay, so he left her in the apartment with a phone for her to call them if something was wrong. He realized Vincent hadn't seen his daughter in three months.

Somehow, despite what he'd seen, his mind thought this was unfair.

The door opened, revealing Vincent, who was in the process of putting on a shirt, his scars and ribs shown for all to see. As soon as he saw it was them, he jumped, putting on the shirt much faster than before.

"H..hello!" He squeaked out, blushing bright red as he looked between the three of them. "C'mon in," He said kindly, all previous nervousness gone. Looking over to Jeremy and Doll, he smiled warmly. "And who might you two be?" He asked.

"Oh, I'm Doll!" Doll replied enthusiastically.

"J..Jeremy," Jeremy stuttered slightly. Mike looked around the apartment confusedly.

"Hey, why isn't Scott here? I thought he was monitoring you at all times, or some shit like that," He asked, and Vincent stiffened slightly at the question.

"Oh, he's out to get a new showerhead. The old one was rusty and turned the water red when I was in the shower," He replied, but there was an edge to his voice only Mike could hear, one that spoke of terror.

_Thinking that blood is falling on you isn't good for someone who is still getting over the fact that he hurt people._

Shaking those thoughts aside, he watched as Vincent turned his attention to Doll. "So, um, how is my Violet flower doing?" He asked, and Doll seemed confused at the question, before her eyes widened.

"_You're _Vincent?" She exclaimed, not noticing how Vincent shrunk away from her glare, or how his eyes set into a sort of resignation, like he was used to this.

"Yes," He said sadly, like it was _bad _to be himself, and Mike didn't care that Vincent hurt people, because no one should hate themselves that much.

"You _monster! _Do you have any idea on what you did to Violet?! She's had nightmares for months!" Doll yelled, and even though Vincent was taller than her, he was incredibly small under her angry shrieks, eyes filled with hurt and regret and self loathing, so much of it that Mike didn't want to look anymore.

"I suppose I deserve your insults. Would you like some toast? It's the only thing I can make well, besides pizza, but I'm sure you've had your fair share of that. Pizza is Violet's favorite," he said softly, eyes shining when he talked about his daughter. He turned on the toaster before she could reply, sitting down in a chair at the small table with a cup of coffee. Jeremy spoke up.

"Um, Mr. Vincent, where did you get those scars, and why could I see your ribs?" He asked, and Vincent flinched.

"Well, most of them were self inflicted," He admitted quietly, ignoring the small gasps coming from the three of them. "The first month after the courts case, I tried slitting my throat, but I was so shaky with the knife that I was caught. The second month I tried starvation, refusing to eat anything, even medication, but when Vince took over he forced me to eat, since I was too weak to do anything else," He gave a bitter laugh at that. "Gotta keep his little puppet healthy!" The words were harsh and cold, nothing like the warm, soft tone Mike was used to hearing. He saw Doll's glaring eyes soften into confusion.

"Mike, what's wrong with him?" She asked, and Mike explained Vincent's situation as best as he could, even if he didn't understand it much. Doll's expression went from confused to pitying, and Jeremy seemed frozen in indifference. Vincent sighed with a smile as the toast popped up.

_Guy must really like toast._

He reached for the butter, taking out a knife to spread, when his hand shook. His expression screwed into frustration as he tried to stop, and he was sweating. He dropped the knife on the table and clenched his hands at his sides, face burning red in embarrassment.

"Mike, could you please butter my toast for me?" He asked through clenched teeth, staring firmly at the ground. At Mike's confused expression, he elaborated. "I don't like touching knives. Not after…" He trailed, and Mike gave him a kind smile, quickly buttering the toast. "Would you three like some?" He asked, and they shook their heads. Mike scratched the back of his neck.

"It's getting late, and Jeremy here has to get to work, so we better be going," He said, and Vincent nodded. They walked towards the door.

"Wait," Mike turned to look at Vincent, who was making himself as small as possible under his gaze. "Umm, I know it's only summer, but seeing as you'll probably be with Violet for a while, help her out with math. She's the worst at that," He fiddled with his hands nervously. "Oh, and she loves pirates and pizza, and singing," His voice was getting stronger. "Umm, and Mike," His silver eyes bore through him as he stared, and Mike found himself frozen under the gaze. "Keep her safe from...everyone," There was an unspoken sentence that Mike could still hear, one that weighed on his heart like a stone.

"_Keep her safe, from me."_

He closed the door behind him, not looking back.

* * *

Scott walked up the steps and nearly ran into Mike, who was just exiting the apartment.

"Hey Mike!" He greeted, and Mike nodded in reply. Scott watched as Mike took a piece of paper from his back pocket out and handed to him. It contained a phone number.

"Call that number if you have any problems," He said gruffly, before going to his apartment.

_Weird._

He stuffed the number into his pocket, figuring he'd just input it into his phone later, opening the door to see Vincent sitting at the table, silently eating a slice of toast.

"Hey, Vincent! I got the showerhead!" He calls, and Vincent gave him a shaky smile, setting his toast down. Scott walks over, sitting down next to him.

"Soo~, those scars…" He trailed off, afraid that he'd said something wrong, but Vincent simply changes his smile to a slight grimace, his eyes still kind and understanding. When he explained what happened the three months after the incident, Scott was shocked. Another thought hit him. "What about the ones on your chest?" He asked, and Vincent winced.

"Those were from mean foster parents," He replied, and Scott sighed, hugging him.

"We ought to be getting to bed. Goodnight," He said, and Vincent nodded, walking to his room.

Unconsciously, Scott stopped referring himself as Vincent's doctor, but instead as his friend.

He didn't know it yet, but Vincent had done the same.

* * *

Vincent's eyes snapped open as the sound of shuffling came from the kitchen.

_Is Scott up?_

He sighed, getting up and walking over to his door, opening it and peeking out, before proceeding to leave his room.

"Scott? He asked, tentatively taking a few more steps out into the living room/kitchen.

Something hit him in the back of the head, and everything went black.


	5. Even when people try to break you again

Vincent woke up with a groan, trying to move, but found himself tied up with rope in a dimly lit room. Scott was a few feet away from him, unconscious.

"Oh, so you're awake. Lovely," A voice came from nowhere, and a figure stepped into view. It was a man wearing all black, except for a face mask, which was pale white with eye holes and a wide smile, purple tears running down its face and red lipstick on its mouth, along with rosy red cheeks. He couldn't see the eye color, only white pupils that made him want to shiver. The man came closer, and he noticed the white rings on his arms and legs, along with three buttons on his chest. He had an elongated neck, and clammy hands that grabbed him under the chin and lifted his head upwards.

"So you're the man who hurt the children, hmmm? I figured you'd be more intimidating," The man quipped. "You may call me Marionette," He continued, getting up. His voice was like child's, but cold and too cheery for Vincent's liking.

"What do you want from me? Why did you bring me here?" He demanded to know, and the man simply laughed.

"Why, you hurt the children, of course! Bad men deserve to be punished, don't they?" His hand snaked its way to his throat before Vincent could respond, cutting his airway off. He struggled blindly as his lungs screamed for air.

_No! I don't want to die!_

Vince pulled at his mind, struggling to give hi the energy to stop the Marionette, but failed miserably.

"Hey, leave him alone!" Scott's voice rang throughout the small room, and Vincent felt himself be released from Marionette's hold. He gasped, watching as the Marionette walked slowly over to his friend. He wanted desperately to stop him, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak, lungs still burning for air they had been deprived of.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Scott. I did tell you to leave, or there would be consequences," His voice was calm, but there was anger on the edge of it, and the tone was full of malice. "You didn't listen, and instead tried to help the _monster_ you call friend. You must be _**punished**_," At the last word, Scott was lifted up by small wires that were laced around his joints and neck. The wires cut into his skin, and he choked as blood came from the cuts. It dripped on the floor, such a familiar sound to Vincent.

Vincent saw red.

He was up and moving in an instant, never feeling the pain from his wrists when he ripped away the restraints on himself, or the pain from his arms when they were sliced as he swung them through the wires, effectively cutting Scott down, the string falling to the floor. All he could register is that someone had _**hurt **_Scott, and that they needed to _**pay.**_ Marionette cackled at his actions. "_There's_ the monster I was waiting for. Tell me, did you enjoy hurting the children?" he asked, and Vincent stopped for a moment, mind out the red haze enough to comprehend the implications of the sentence.

"That wasn't me! That was Vince!" He cried, hands clenched into tight fists, desperately trying to hold onto his own fake belief. His hope was slipping as the Marionette continued to cackle at him, so familiar, yet so different.

"Oh really? Vince did it? How stupid of you to believe that," Vincent was frozen again as the Marionette glided across the room. "You and Vince are one and the same!" Vincent felt himself be punched into the wall, sliding down to the floor. Thoughts jumbled in his head.

_I'm Vince? No! I'm Not!_

"_Maybe you are."_

Vince's voice rang through his mind, and Vincent felt the cold hands around his neck and his vision fade as the Marionette walked over to Scott, pulling him up by the collar. He raised his fist.

_Scott!_

Scott was shrinking into himself, like frightened child. Vincent felt the room grow dim as a flashback hit him.

_Scott, bleeding from his arms as a dark figure came closer._

_Violet, shaking as her arm bled painfully, a man walking towards her with a knife._

_Not again, NOT AGAIN, __**NOT AGAIN!**_

He roared in anger, getting up, the blackness in his vision clearing away into red clarity as his fist connected with the Marionettes head, the mask cracking under the pressure. He didn't know if it was the anger, or the pain he felt, or just the situation, but Vince stopped pushing from control, leaving his will half Vince's and half his own. He was fine with that, letting the desire to kill, to make the Marionette _suffer _flow through him. Thoughts merged, and he felt himself move faster, senses sharpening.

**_KILL THE MARIONETTE!_**

Unbeknownst to him, one of his eyes was the the black and white color few lived to see, and the other was sharp silver.

"You know, I care for few things," His voice sounded off to him, like two voices in one, but he ignored it, circling the Marionette and walking closer. His statement was true, for he didn't care for much, not even himself. Scott was different. He had done everything for him, made him feel loved.

Scott had promised. No other doctor had done that.

The Marionette had _hurt_ Scott, had tried to kill him and take him away. That was unforgivable.

**_KILL HIM!_**

The light flickered, nearly dead. He ran, ramming the Marionette into the wall and holding him there by his throat. He growled lowly. "Scott is _**mine,**_" His tone was nothing short of possessive as he said his friend's name. "And I don't like when people try to break things that are _mine,_" The Marionette was barely trembling, but fear radiated off of him, and Vincent felt some sort of sick satisfaction at the fact. He leaned in close, almost wavering, but the picture of Scott choking as wires dug into his skin and Vince's urging brought the rage burning through him again, and he tightened his grip on the Marionette's throat. "Now, for every injury you placed on Scott, I'm going to break one of your bones," The Marionette flinched, now shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and filled with fear. Vincent laughed at his terror, feeling one of his eyes twitch.

"Don't, please, I-,"

"Oh, don't worry so much, you'll be fine!" Vincent interrupted, smiling widely. He put his hand on Marionette's arm, putting pressure on the bone. His head hurt, the anger racing through his veins, red haze destroying the tiniest shred pity and mercy he had. "Oh, and do try and scream for me. It's only fun if you do," He certainly felt Vince's influence on that sentence. He wasn't concerned though. He whispered in the Marionette's ear, voice soft and sweet.

**_"You are going to suffer._**_**"**_

The light went out, two red eyes and a wide smile the only things illuminating the darkness.

* * *

Scott groaned, reaching for his phone in his pocket, hoping.

_Yes, it's there!_

He flipped it open, immediately going to 911.

_What the hell?! It's blocked?!  
_

He checked the other contacts, and sure enough, they were blocked too. He growled angrily, sitting back, when he heard the crinkling of paper in his other back pocket.

_Mike's number!  
_

He quickly inputted the number, nearly crying in relief when the phone rang.

_Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up._

"Scott? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Mike's voice asked through the phone, and Scott smiled.

"Mike! Do you know how to track a phone? Vincent and I got kidnapped by some psycho! I don't know where we are!" The sentences were hurried and fearful, hushed, so Scott was sure Mike would have trouble understanding him, but he was too scared to care.

"Wha- Scott, calm down. Apparently, Jeremy's good with technology, so he's gonna track your phone," Scott's erratic breathing slowed, but a ear piercing scream filled through room, echoing as a sickening crack sounded.

"SCOTT! What was that? Are you okay?" Mike's voice was become frantic.

"I'm fine, that was our captor. He pissed Vincent off," Scott replied, phone shaking in his hands as more screams sounded. Mike sighed noisily in relief.

"Okay, we got you! You're a few minutes from my work, so me and Jeremy will be over in a second," He said, and hung up.

Two minutes later, the door burst open, revealing a very scared, but _extremely_ pissed off Mike.

* * *

Vincent felt numb as he dragged himself from the battered form of the Marionette, cuts on his arms bleeding heavily, hands stinging with pain from the punches he pulled. Vince was completely gone from his head at the moment, either worn out or subdued. Or sated. He nearly shivered at the thought. He reached Scott, who looked at him with a little bit of fear, though Vincent didn't blame him. He was a monster, after all.

"Are you okay?" He rasped, the toll on his throat from being choked earlier finally catching up to him. He needed to know, just like he needed to know that Violet was okay, but didn't care if he himself was okay. Scott was important, was kind, was _his._ He reached out, just like all those years before, but this time Scott didn't flinch back, didn't move away, but grabbed his hand in his own. His cheeks heated up slightly.

_Why are they doing that?_

"I'm fine. What about you?" Vincent wanted to say not to worry about him, that all that mattered was that he was fine, but blackness was dancing at the edge of his vision, not like when Vince was here, but from exhaustion and pain and relief. Worry radiated off of Scott, those green eyes staring into his own, and Vincent was glad they still sparkled. He loved when they did that. He gave him a small smile, falling onto the cold stone floor. He could faintly hear his name being called, but was too tired to care. He squeezed Scott's hand.

_Scott's safe._

That was all he needed to know to close his eyes and black out.

* * *

Mike cringed at the bloody mess of Scott and Vincent's captor.

_Remind me never to piss off Vincent._

Scott's voice broke through his thoughts, and he saw him shaking Vincent's limp body, a worried look on his face. Mike cursed, yelling at Jeremy to call an ambulance.

"Fuck! Scott, move out of the way, I need to stop the bleeding," He pushed Scott out of the way, ripping his shirt apart and wrapping the strips of fabric tightly around the cuts on Vincent's arms and hands. he knew how to do this, knew from experience when he patched himself up after fights at school. He winced at the bruises that were forming around Vincent's throat. He noticed the cuts on Scott as well. "Man, what happened to you?" He muttered, wiping the blood off Scott's neck.

"Umm, I may have been tortured, which is the main reason Vincent got angry," Scott gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "I think I might need a psychologist. Wouldn't that be the day! A psychologist needing a psychologist! Ha!" Mike couldn't help but be concerned.

"Mike, the ambulance is on its way!" Jeremy's voice cut through Scott's fear and Mike's worry.

_Okay, Scott and Vincent are going to be fine._

"He used strings to pull me up by my skin," Scott whispered, pulling his knees up to his chest, while Mike looked at him with a strange look of revulsion. "They dug into my arms and neck, and I couldn't breathe," The words got quieter, so quiet that Mike had to strain to hear. "Vincent...he used his arms to cut the wires, that's why they're bleeding," Tears streamed down his face, sobs wracking his entire body and he took a shuddering breath. "I don't know what I'll do if he dies because of me," Mike had heard enough, wrapping Scott up into a hug as he sobbed, whispering that it was okay, that Vincent would be alright, that it wasn't his fault. It was funny, how little he knew about Scott, but how much he cared.

That was what friendship was, he supposed, hugging Scott tighter.

All of his pity towards the beaten captor vanished, and he turned to see the man getting up, gun in his shaking hand, the one arm that wasn't broken holding it up just barely.

"You won't get away! I'll kill you!" The man yelled, pointing his gun towards the unconscious Vincent. Mike got ready to move, when a loud crack came from behind the man, and he fell on the ground. Mike looked and saw Jeremy standing there with a piece of broken wood in his hand. He gave him a thumbs up. Mike turned his attention back to Scott, who was shaking even harder now. He held on to him tight, not letting anything distract him.

He only let go when the ambulance arrived

* * *

Jeremy didn't know what to think of Michael Schmidt, victim of '87. Sure, the man was rather gruff when you first met him, but he was all squishy inside, with a great heart.

_He's even okay with __**Vincent.**_

Oh, he knew Vincent. He knew that he was the reason his dad got fired from Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria twenty years ago, that he was the reason his father killed himself when he was three, so he never knew what a father's love was like. Though, Vincent's situation wasn't very good either, compared to his own. Multiple Personality Disorder wasn't the greatest thing to have. He didn't like the way Vincent's aura looked though. It flickered, even now, between soft dark purple to cold black. His father had taught him how to see auras, a very difficult skill to acquire, before killing himself. Jeremy still remembered the slaps and yells and curses from when he had made mistakes, when he had screwed things up. He did that a lot. After all,he was worthless. Mike's aura was a soft pale blue, mixed with orange around his head. Had the bite caused the aura change? Scott's aura was an emerald green. He sighed, looking at Vincent again. _He_ was the one who caused all their problems, but he never _meant_ to. In fact, the guy had tried to kill himself twice! Vincent was really nice when you got to know him, but was just...broken inside. Vincent had probably suffered more than he did.

Somehow because of that, the burning anger in his head cooled.

* * *

Scott didn't like the way Vincent was on the bed, white sheets wrapped around his thin frame. He was completely still, something that Scott had never seen. In the few times he had slept over when they were kids, Vincent had always squirmed in his sleep. The stillness was unnerving. Apparently, Vincent was much weaker due to malnutrition, and the wounds hadn't helped his health. Scott himself was fine, the only important wound being the one around his neck. They had fussed over him, the nurses whispering words of comfort softly as they wrapped his cuts, sympathy evident on their faces, before finally letting him go to see Vincent. He had seen how angry the doctor had looked when he was fixing up the Marionette. He sighed. The only way Scott knew Vincent was alive was the slow, but steady rise and fall of his chest. The constant beep of the heart monitor was a nice indicator too. He chuckled, brushing the strands of hair out of Vincent's face. He looked so peaceful, which was great, he supposed, even if it was because he was out cold. Mike walked in.

"He should be ready to leave by tomorrow afternoon. The man who attacked you apparently has done this more than once," He began, sitting down in the chair next to Scott. "He's gone mostly after child abusers that got away with it. The cops have been after him for weeks," Scott growled.

"That monster was just like everyone else, blaming Vincent, never looking for the truth," Scott's fists were clenching the armrests of his chair, and he could hear them groan under the pressure. "I know he did something bad, but why doesn't anyone _understand?_" There was anger in his words, anger at the unfairness, anger at the fact that Vincent didn't get to see his daughter, anger at the the scars Vincent had, anger at the new ones that would be added to his sick collection because of him. "Why doesn't anyone _care?_" More anger filled his voice, until he was grinding his teeth together, eyes shut tight as he tried to calm his breathing, to stop himself from running down to the Marionette's room and choking the bastard to death. Mike put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, I care, and more importantly, _you _care. That's enough for Vincent," He said, and thee words washed over Scott's anger like a cool breeze. He smiled.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," He replied, looking at Vincent, who was snoring softly. Mike smiled.  
"Don't mention it. Well~, I got to go to work, so I'll be off," He tipped his hat before leaving. Scott simply continued to listen to the soft snores Vincent was making.

"_Scott is __**mine."**_

He had been scared when he'd heard the possessiveness in those words. Had Vincent grown that attached to him? Though, it was nice to have someone who would fight for you. Ever since his father had died and Paige had left him, he'd been pretty lonely. He yawned, laying him head on Vincent's chest.

_I'm so tired._

He closed his eyes, letting Vincent's rhythmic snores and breaths lull him to sleep.


	6. And then you will SHATTER

Vincent's eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head from side to side and observed his surroundings.

_I'm in a hospital. Nice._

He sighed, going to sit up, when he felt something on his chest

That something was Scott's head.

He blushed furiously, cheeks burning. Why did they keep doing that? They had only done that when he first met Susan, his wife, but…

He shook the thoughts away, pondering what to do. He still wanted to move, but he didn't want to wake up Scott. Sighing again, he noticed the breakfast on the table beside his bed. Using his free arm, he reached towards the piece of toast placed on the tray.

"What are you doing?"

He froze, turning to see Scott yawn, and then give him a bemused look. He scowled, but unlike the scowls from before, it was only annoyed, not angry looking.

"I was trying to get some toast while _someone _slept on my chest," He replied, and Scott's face turned bright red.

"Sh..Shut up!" He sputtered, and Vincent chuckled at how adorable he was. He took a bite out of his toast, offering Scott his fruit; some watermelon. They sat in silence for a few minutes, eating and musing their thoughts. Vincent wondered if the Marionette would be sent to jail. He shivered at the memory of Scott hung up by wires, like some sick puppet show. He finished his toast and took a swig of orange juice, wishing desperately for alcohol to drown himself, to forget the feeling of blood on his skin, the cracking of bones as he twisted them, broke them, the screams of the Marionette echoing in his head.

_Monster. Disgusting. Horrible._

Jeremy and Mike walked in.

"Sup?" Mike asked, taking off his hat, rubbing his hands over his head. Vincent froze again, eyes widening to see the scars that made their way across Mike's scalp.

_No...Mikey?_

It was as if a light switch on in his head, and he could see the blue eyes that had sparkled, and the mischievous grin that meant that something amazing was going to happen. Mike...Mikey, had never taken off his hat before, so he couldn't have known. His hands started to shake, and Scott eyed him warily.

"You-you're...Mikey?" Vincent whispered, and Mike froze, eyes glazing over, as though lost in a memory. "We used to play together as kids, but then…" Vincent trailed off, unable to speak of the horror, the gore and pain he'd seen that day, the day he first noticed how everything he cared for crumbled at his touch.

"Vincent? You alright?" Scott's tone was confused, but kind as always, but Vincent only had eyes for Mikey at that moment, and Mikey seemed fixated on him as well.

"Vince, in 1987...he told you to do...something, that got you hurt. The scars…" The images flashed in his head, the ones of blood, of him trying desperately to stop Mikey's bleeding, of him trying to fix the damage Vince had caused. Vince's taunt from all those years ago played in his head.

"_All of Vincent's trying and all the paramedic men, couldn't put poor Mikey back together again!"_

"I didn't mean to...I'm _so sorry _Mikey," His voice was hinting desperation. Mikey grabbed his head, groaning in pain. The scars bled a bit, and Scott cursed, walking over to him.

"Jeremy, you take Vincent home. I've gotta go get Mike some medical attention," With that, he helped Mikey stumble out of the room. Vincent looked over at Jeremy, who was looking at him like he was going to kill him any second. He was used to that look, though he could still feel the twinge of pain as his mind acknowledged it.

"You drive?" He asked, and Jeremy shook his head. Vincent put his face him his hands, and sighed.

* * *

Jeremy pretended to not be scared. He pretended not to notice the way Vincent's hands shook, the way his aura still flickered, the way the bandages covered every inch of his arms. Vincent sometimes reminded him of his father, the father from the stories. The father right after the Bite, the one who was full of regrets and that wanted to forgive himself, but couldn't. That father died and became angry, lashing out at everything, never to be the kind man that people talked of ever again. That father was lost, and the child who loved him was left all alone, confused and hurt and crying as their dad swung dead from the roof of their childhood home.

And Jeremy would be _damned_ if he let that happen to someone again.

Vincent, sure, wasn't the greatest, and it was a completely different situation that Jeremy would have to help with, but the regret and pain held inside his eyes was the same as his father's. Besides, Vincent did care about others. After all, he protected Scott, didn't he? Besides, it was obvious he loved Violet, with the way he talked about her. Jeremy shifted uncomfortably, the silence stifling, before reaching out to turn on the radio.

"_**~Let's Kill Tonight!~"**_

Vincent jumped, literally fucking _jumped_, hitting his head on the ceiling of the car, shaking like a leaf, eyes wide, and Jeremy scrambled to turn off the radio. Vincent breaths were hurried, and for a moment Jeremy thinks he's going to hyperventilate. Vincent takes a minute to calm down, gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline, before letting out a breath and returning his attention to the road.

"You drive often?" Jeremy asked, trying to lighten the mood. Vincent shook his head.

"I usually walk places. In fact I haven't drove anywhere...since…," He trailed off and Jeremy mentally slapped himself.

They sat in comfortable awkward silence the rest of the way.

* * *

Vincent walked into the apartment with a happy sigh, breathing in the familiar scent of old toast and mold. Jeremy walked in much slower than he did, eyes darting all around. Vincent hated driving, it was boring and took too long when there was traffic. Besides, his town was pretty small, so most things were walking distance.

With the exception of his workplace.

He shivered, the thought of the place where he had hurt Violet sending chills down his spine. He looked to Jeremy, eyes full of sympathy. He knew that look, the fear of being a disappointment. It was often found in people with bad parents. Vincent thought about his foster parents. Most people had to rich or crazy, or both, to take him into their home. One man had whipped him for breaking a plate, which still showed up on his back.

The worst house was the last one he had been in, before he turned eighteen and was shoved into the real world with nothing but a High School degree and a shattered childhood.

He had stayed there for three years, and for the first two, it wasn't so bad. The people were kind, if a bit preoccupied, but they never hurt him, they never yelled at him, they gave him hugs and made him feel loved. He had loved them too, at the time.

Then, the father died.

He was on the way to pick Vincent up from school, when his car was run over by an eighteen-wheeler truck barreling down the street. The mother was devastated, crying, and Vincent did everything he could to make her feel better.

Unfortunately, she blamed it all on him.

He remembered running out of the house, a beer bottle smashing against the door as he slammed it shut, remembered the slaps and words that stung like knives. He remembered the stinging of tears in the back of his eyes, trying so desperately to be composed even though he felt worthless. As soon as he turned eighteen, he ran, ran away with Vince laughing at his fear, ran until he could find a place to stay, and a job to have. He could see the same fear, the same pain in Jeremy's eyes.

He promised himself he'd see to it that it disappeared.

"_So many promises, always broken."_

Vincent ignored Vince, after all, he had just taken his medication, so the psycho was just trying to get to him. He sat down at the table, wondering about Mikey.

"_Remember how his brains splattered over the tile? I found it quite pleasing to look at."_

Vincent shivered at the thought. Sick bastard. Mikey might not forgive him, but maybe they could still talk to each other. At least, Mikey wouldn't try to strangle him. His thoughts went to Scott. His face kept heating up around him. Why? He only did that around women. A few would hit on him while he was working, but he'd always show them the wedding ring he never got rid of, even after Susan died. Did...did he like Scott that way? Either way, he was glad to have the man as a friend again. He looked over to Jeremy, who pointed at the TV remote questioningly. Vincent nodded, and Jeremy immediately put on an obnoxious show called...Sailor Moon?! He smiled lightly. Maybe he could fix himself. Maybe Violet could have a father she would be proud of. Maybe, just maybe…

He could be happy again.

"_**NO**__!"_

Pain erupted in Vincent's head, a full blown migraine, as Vince clawed all around in his mind.

"_YOU DON'T GET TO BE HAPPY! YOU WILL ALWAYS __**SUFFER! YOU ARE **__**MINE!**_"

Vince was still trapped, a caged animal, but he was stretching out his arms to every corner of his head, pulling and tearing, and Vincent wanted it to stop because it hurt so _Fucking much. _Jeremy was walking over, calling to him with concern in his voice, but Vincent could barely hear because all he could register was _pain. _

"_I'll show you what you've done. I'll show you that_ _**I**_ _am the master puppeteer,"_

Everything was fading to black, but there was no cold hands on his neck, so Vincent could only surmise that he was having a flashback induced by Vince's fury.

_**"And you are just a puppet."**_

The world went dark.

* * *

When Vincent woke up, he was walking around at work, but he wasn't in control of his own body. He walked to the back room, the one with all the spare parts. He then took out a golden Freddy suit, putting it on carefully.

It was then that he realized that this was how the incident happened through Vince's eyes.

He screamed, begging and pleading for Vince to stop, because he didn't want to see it, didn't want to see the blood and gore and horror.

Vince didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge him, or do anything to show that he was watching. Vincent squirmed, trying to close his eyes, but couldn't, forced to watch as he went around in his suit, gathering up five kids, including Violet, and steering them towards the back room.

"Daddy, why are we going back here?" Violet asked him, eyes wide and innocent.

_Don't follow him Violet! Run!_

She couldn't hear him, and Vince-he-gave her a smile from behind his mask.

"It's a surprise, little flower," He said, smiling warmly, and Violet nodded, skipping up to where the other kids were. He opened the door to the back room, ushering the children in, closing the door behind him and locking it, before taking of the suit, pulling out a knife from behind his back. He smiled, a terrifying smile, but the worst part about it was that it was kind, soft, and it made you want to relax, to trust him.

_**"Now, who wants some cake?"**_

* * *

Vincent was screaming, wanting to hurl at the horror he was seeing. Vince-was it really Vince or was it himself?- was stringing a boy up by his skin, eyes twitching as he laughed. He hated that he saw everything through Vince's eyes, how he felt the pleasure Vince felt as fear radiated of the children, as the boy screamed in pain. The other children were huddled in a corner by the door, shaking, and Violet was looking at him strangely. He grabbed the boy in brown next, shoving him to the ground and slicing his legs over and over, smiling as the boy screamed. Vincent kept wondering why, why was he doing this, why wasn't anyone helping the children, why no one was stopping him, why, _why , WHY?!_

The other boy, he had lovely bunny teeth, and he watched as he- he because it was always him, he was just too stupid to realize- cut them out, taking bits and pieces of the gums as well. He grabbed the girl, not Violet, because he saved her for last. She had a bib on, being the youngest, and bright yellow pig-tails, with pizza crumbs all around her mouth, and he stabbed her in the stomach, leaving the knife in, so she would feel as much pain as possible.

He realized that that was probably the only reason she was still alive now.

"Mr. Vince, leave Sophie alone!" Violet yelled, shaking as she stood defiantly against him. He smirked. She was feisty, he gave her that. Vincent didn't know when his thoughts started being Vince's, but then, they were the same person, right?

Both monsters, both insane, both in one body.

Why did he _ever_ blame a disorder for what he did?

He walked over to Violet, a new knife in his hand-he didn't know where he got them, but he honestly didn't care-and stabbed her in the arm, more blood dripping off him now; the sticky substance covered every inch of his body, and he felt like he was drowning in it, drowning in lost innocence. She screamed, begging him to to stop, but he couldn't, lost in his euphoria of death and gore and blood. He heard the door creak open, but didn't care, because honestly, he was going to jail for this anyway. Then, he felt shocking pain course through him, lightning white color filling his eyelids, but he didn't scream, because he was already past screaming, and he fell to the floor.

The last thing he saw was pale blue eyes before everything went black.

"_Kid, you okay? Shit, I gotta call an ambulance, and the cops! This guy's a fucking psycho! Kid!"_

* * *

Vincent opened his eyes in the apartment, Jeremy looking at him with worry.

"'m fine," He mumbled, but he wasn't, because the images were still in his head, and he felt sticky, sticky with blood. So much blood everywhere, dripping in pools on the floor.

He was drowning, falling deeper into the abyss, and no one could save him now.

"_You see now, that you are a puppet, my puppet to control until you fall into the depths of Hell."_

He felt himself nodding, because really, what was the point in anything? He was a monster, a sick psycho who tortured kids and enjoyed it, a madman who deserved to be hung, or shot, or stabbed.

_Or...stabbed…_

"Vincent?"

"_Puppet?"_

Vincent wasn't listening to either of them, Jeremy or Vince, because he deserved to go to Hell, right? So why wait? Jeremy was calling after him, grabbing him by his shoulder, but Vincent shrugged him off, stuck in a daze of self-hatred, of wanting to just end it all. Mikey would be a good parent to Violet, along with Doll, so why was he needed? He opened the drawer, pulling out a big steak knife, silently admiring the blade.

"_Puppet? N...No! D-don't do that! YOU IDIOT! Don't you DARE!"_

He ignored him like always, turning around, and Jeremy backed away at the sight of the knife.

"V-Vincent? W-what are y-you d-d-doing?!" He exclaimed. Vincent smiled sadly, feeling guilty that Jeremy would have to see this. He waved.

And stabbed himself in the chest.

Jeremy screamed as he fell to the floor, but Vincent just felt numb, the floor was so cold for some reason, and all the lights were dimming. Jeremy was mumbling something like, 'Not again', and Vincent felt that familiar pang of guilt, and groaned as he felt pressure on the wound he inflicted on himself.

"_Dumbass! You-we're going to die! Idiot! We're lucky Jeremy is here!"_

Vince's voice is more nervous than he'd ever heard it before, and Vincent wondered why. Vince wanted him to suffer, right?

"_B-but if you die, I do! Idiot! Puppe-Vincent!"_

Ah, so that was it? Figures. It would be impossible for Vince to care for someone. At least he stopped calling him puppet. Vince was scrambling about in his head, nervously pacing, yelling and hollering at him for being dumb. It was kind of funny actually.

_Well, If I'm gonna die, might as well take him down with me._

"J-Jeremy," He called out. It was getting hard to breathe, hard to speak, to see. "M-m-make sure Violet...i-is hap-happy," He needed her to be, she was his everything, his precious flower, beautiful and perfect. Blackness swirled at the edge of his vision, and for a moment he was terrified, afraid he would see the incident again, but he decided that it didn't really matter, because he deserved pain and suffering death. "An-and, l-l-let Scott know I-I...I liked being his f-friend," Maybe he wished for a little more, but who would ever want to love him, as broken and dead as he was? Jeremy was mumbling that he was going to be fine, that the ambulance was on his way, that he'd let everyone know what he said. Though the boy was obviously trying to save him, Vincent knew it was inevitable fr his life to end. He smiled, hearing the yelling of the paramedics running in, and let the darkness swallow him whole.

"_VINCENT!"_

* * *

Scott hated the feeling of Deja vu he had. Vincent was still again, blood pumping through the IV into his veins, replacing the amount lost, bandages now wrapped around his chest. He would be fine if he survived the night. He had broken a rib, and just missed his heart, nearly piercing his lung. Scott sighed.

_How, in the few hours I left Vincent with Jeremy, did the guy manage to attempt suicide?!_

He clenched his fists in anguish, mind screaming at him that he was a failure; he couldn't save Vincent, so he was worthless. Jeremy had barely been able to speak, and as much as Scott wanted answers, he knew he would have to be patient.

You'd think, with his profession, that it'd come easily.

Vincent stirred slightly, opening his eyes. The one thing Scott hated about those eyes was that you could never tell where they were focusing, but somehow he could tell that they were on him. Vincent groaned, putting up his hand to block out the light.

"Hell is _so_ overrated."

* * *

Vincent didn't know why he was in a hospital. He was dead, right? He had killed himself, hadn't he? Stabbing himself in the chest wasn't just a dream, he could still feel the pain by his heart, so why was he in the hospital? Furthermore, why was Scott here? If anything, Scott should be in heaven, being an angel and all that shit.

"Umm, you're not in Hell Vincent," Scott said, and Vincent nearly cried at the fact that he could hear Scott's voice, the soft words and tone that was always smooth as silk.

_Wow, I've fallen for him hard._

"What? Bu-but I-,"

"You came pretty damn close, you ass," Vincent blinked, eyes widening, and he sat up straight, wincing as his chest flared up with pain. He was _alive?!_ What the Hell?! What was the point of stabbing yourself if you don't die?! He sighed, flopping back onto his pillows, all the fight, the determination to make it end just ebbing away. "Hey, Vincent, it's alright," Scott's voice was even gentler than usual, and Vincent noticed Mikey and Jeremy walk in. Jeremy looked shaken, and Mikey looked like death warmed over. Scott took his hands into his own, and Vincent felt that now familiar blush on his cheeks. Scott was blushing a bit too. "It'll be okay. I can help you, I can save you from where you are right now," Vincent froze.

_Help. Save_

_Help them. Save them._

_Help you. Save you._

Those words, he had heard them so many times in his dreams, and he remembered screaming them out on that one night, hoping someone would hear, and someone did, but far _too late._

Now, those words were being used on him, like he was some helpless child being tortured, something that should be saved, that needed to be helped. The nightmares, the incident, the pain, the Marionette, Scott, Mikey, Violet, everything he knew came crashing down around him.

Something inside him snapped.

Now, he was doubled over laughing, because everything was so _goddamn funny, _and he could see Mikey and Jeremy looking at him with disturbed eyes, but he couldn't give a fuck, mind spiraling down, somewhere he'd never been before. It didn't matter, he liked new places. Words screamed over and over, bouncing around his head, but he couldn't hear them, couldn't hear Scott begging for him to stop, or the erratic beating of the heart monitor, or the sound of shoes clacking over tile; Mikey and Jeremy's, trying to find a nurse.

_Too late._

People were coming too late, when they should have been there for him after Mikey nearly died, or after he was crying in his room, cuts from a whip bleeding on his back, or when he hurt Scott's cat, or when he felt worthless because the closest thing to a mother he had since the fire was beating him almost daily, or any time before now.

They always came too late.

His laughter was getting more strained, the pain by his heart nearly stopping him from laughing at all, and he felt blood coming up his throat, and he couldn't breathe but he was still _laughing_. After all, it was probably the only thing he knew how to do well.

_Help who? Save who? Why help someone not worth helping? Why try to save someone who's too far gone to save?_

Vince, who hadn't shown up at all during his break down, still didn't appear, but his words washed over him, words he hated, hated them because they were true, because they cut into his heart and mind. Blood was pouring out of his mouth, dripping off his chin, and everything was turning black _again. _He smiled wide, but it did nothing to stop the flow of blood, which now went in between the gaps of his teeth, staining them red. Just like everything else in his life. Scott's promise washed over him, and then the words from only a minute ago blared in his ears.

_Help. Save._

_LIES!_

He wanted to be happy, to reply and say he believed Scott, but he didn't, so he laughed some more, letting himself fall apart, because honestly, what was holding him together?

Words finally left his lips, a whisper throughout the insanity, as everything withered away from his vision.

"You can't."


	7. Love will make you whole

Scott didn't dare say a word. Couldn't, because the lump in his throat was too large to swallow. He had been kicked out of Vincent's room, the doctor saying that he kept riling up his patient.

_Vincent's __**my**_ _patient!_

Nevertheless, he had left. Now, he sat in the waiting room, Mike and Jeremy having gone to work long ago. What had he done wrong? He had tried _so hard_ to fix Vincent, to be a good friend and doctor. Why had he snapped when he said those words? He felt anger bubble up in his throat, and he wanted to scream, to yell and make a scene because he didn't know anything, and he hated the feeling of helplessness that weighed down on him. Vincent's laughing had cause his broken rib to pierce his lung, and the doctor looked grim when he came out to tell Scott the news, hands covered in blood. Scott got up, rubbing his eyes. There was no point in staying, was there? He had stressed it to the point that the doctor had told him to stop that he wanted to be called as soon as Vincent woke up. He walked out, going to his car. Jeremy had drove himself over in it, and Mike had picked him up in his truck. When he got home, he took out some bread. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, with all the craziness, and his stomach grumbled loudly. He plopped two pieces into the toaster. It was close to breakfast anyway, and Vincent-

Vincent. Why did his thoughts always travel back to him? He sighed, grabbing the now toasted pieces of bread and eating them mechanically. Toast was Vincent's favorite dish. In fact, Scott couldn't remember him eating anything else while he was here. He thought of how dead Vincent had looked earlier. The doctor had walked out of the room, blood on his hands, to tell him the news of what had happened. The laughter had caused Vincent's already broken rib to break even more and puncture his lung, and they had to do surgery. It would be unlikely he would survive. Scott could see it now.

_Vincent Heliotrope, leading psychologist Scott's first failed patient!_

But, Vincent wasn't just his patient, he was his friend. How could he tell his friend's kid that her daddy was gone, or tell Mike or Jeremy or anyone else who cared enough that he couldn't save Vincent? The toast tasted like cardboard, sticking in his throat, and he wanted to scream, but he was trapped in his own head, words lost in the white noise.

_Is this how Vincent feels?_

He wondered if Vincent would be forgotten, just like every other person no one cared about. One word looped in his mind, reminding him of what he couldn't do, what he had done.

_**Failed.**_

He put his head in his arms, and sobbed.

* * *

Vincent felt like he was floating. It was black everywhere, but it was like water, and he was drowning in it. Vince appeared, a purple apparition in the form of himself, with black and white eyes and a wide grin that seemed forced.

"_Welcome to your mindscape Vincent, or rather, my area. Very roomy, don't you think?" _Vince sneered at him, and Vincent finally got his footing on some solid ground.

"Yeah, and empty, though I'm not surprised. After all, it's you," He shot back, and Vince smiled wider.

"_Oh~, so the kitten has claws? Nice to see a little rebel in you. And, I suppose you're right. It __**is**_ _me," _He replied, and images of bleeding children and screams filled the space. Vincent covered his ears and closed his eyes.

"STOP!" He roared, and everything went silent. He opened his eyes, and Vince looked almost..scared. He looked up to see a red aura twenty times the size of him towering above him.

"_You...you're not supposed to have that much aura power!" _Vince exclaimed, and Vincent saw how small Vince's aura was, how it trembled. He smiled softly.

"What's wrong Vince? Afraid of something you can't overpower, like _Violet_?" He said her name through gritted teeth, anger bubbling up to the surface, making his aura, whatever the hell it was, grow larger, years of hiding everything behind a brick wall of neutrality crumbling away, anger and sadness and the need for _revenge_ pushing Vince back. He screamed. "You think you can just control me, like some twisted puppet?! Well, I'm _sick of it!_" Words held back since the accident, pouring out like water through a drain after you pull out the plug. His aura took the form of an arm, and it grabbed Vince around the waist, bringing him to eyes level with Vincent. They were so close, their noses were almost touching. "I'm _**done **_being your plaything, and now that I've got the power to get rid of you, I _will!_" Every word dripped with venom, fury closing the fist even tighter around Vince's body. To his surprise, Vince laughed, throwing his head back as he shook.

"_Oh, __**finally! **__I was wondering when you'd grow a backbone," _ He chuckled. "_Oh, and before you kill me, might I give you some advice?" _He continued without waiting for an answer, and Vincent was completely still in shock at how calmly Vince was taking in the situation. "_That man, Scott?" _Vincent's eyebrows shot up, and he clenched his fists. If Vince was gonna try and get him to hurt Scott, he-!

He never got to finish his thought, because Vince was giving him almost a...kind?...smile, black eyes growing lighter.

"_Go get 'im Tiger."_

The giant fist closed, and Vince dissolved into dust.

Vincent thought he would feel triumphant, but this all seemed very...anticlimactic. Like a bad ending to a movie. Vince had almost seemed nice towards the end, despite of how terrible he was with children. He sighed, feeling somewhat hollow.

_How do I get out of here?_

As if the room could hear him, he was immediately thrown through a door,everything fading to white.

Vincent gasped, eyes snapping open to see the familiar walls of the hospital room. A nurse ran in, panting.

"Mr. Vincent! You weren't supposed to be awake yet!" She exclaimed and Vincent got up, ripping off the IV and other devices he was hooked up to.

"Take me home," He demanded. The woman stood still for a moment.

"O-okay."

* * *

Scott rubbed his eyes dry, red tear stains running down his face. Vincent was gone. He knew this. That friend he had known when they were twelve, back when the world was bright and new and innocent had disappeared into something dark and cold and broken, shattered like glass falling onto the cold floor. He remembered the old Vincent faintly, the one who would smile and talk about pirates and the one who had dreams.

"_So, Vincent, what do you want to do when you grow up?" They were sitting on a bench in the park, and Scott asked the question with wide, curious eyes. Vincent smiled softly, and Scott silently congratulated himself on getting the other boy to grin._

"_I...I think I'll be a teacher. I'm really good with numbers, so I could help kids with that!" His face grew brighter as he spoke, silver eyes shining as they stared into emerald green. "What about you?" Vincent asked, and Scott looked up at the bright blue sky, swinging his legs back and forth as he contemplated his decision._

"_I'm gonna be a be a psychologist and help people!" He replied, smiling wide. Vincent sighed contentedly, leaning back on the bench._

"_Scott?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_You ever think we'll be what we dream?" Scott looked at Vincent strangely, replying in the best way his twelve year-old mind could_

"_I don't know, but there's always a possibility, right?"_

Where was Vincent's possibility? Why had he become a psychologist, but Vincent had never reached his dream? It wasn't fair! He sighed, getting up and walking to the door as he heard knocking from it. He opened the door, and froze.

_Vincent._

"Uh, Hey. A nurse drove me home, if that's what you're wondering," He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, and Scott stood there in shock. Then, he did the only thing he could think of.

He wrapped his arms around Vincent into a tight hug, afraid that it would all be a dream if he let him go, and only loosened his hold when Vincent groaned in slight pain. Neither of them spoke, but it didn't matter.

Who the Hell needed words anyway?

* * *

Mike walked around. He needed to clear his head.

Foxy had bitten him. Vincent was the reason why. Well, Vince anyway.

He could remember bits and pieces. He remembered yellow eyes and dark red fur, and a pirates laugh. He could also remember purple hair and bright silver eyes.

"_C'mon Mikey! Let's try to be Foxy's first mate! Arrrr!"_

Vincent seemed so kind and innocent then, so happy, nothing like the scared and broken man he was now. He walked up the stairs, stopping at the sight.

It was Vincent and Scott hugging. Scott looked so relieved, and Vincent had the widest smile on his face.

"_Hey, what's your name kid?"_

"_I'm Mikey! What about you?" Purple hair, green sweater, dark skin. Kind voice._

"_I'm Vincent, and make sure not to call me anything else!"_

"_Do you like Foxy, Vincent?"_

"_Duh! Hey, bet you that together we can be in Foxy's crew!"_

"_You're on!"_

Mike smiled slightly. He'd liked the old Vincent. And besides, even with the head injury, his life had turned out fine. He had Doll, Jeremy, and he was hoping to get a daughter some day. So, Mike smiled when those black strings slowly slid off of Vincent arms, legs, and neck before disappearing completely.

* * *

Everything wasn't perfect right away. Vincent still had nightmares, he was still very self destructive, he still took medication, and Violet was still in Mike's custody. Not that Vincent minded that much. He just missed her. Scott, on the other hand, was furious at the fact that Vincent couldn't see his daughter, and immediately made a court case to give Vincent back custody. He talked about his progress, how careful and guilty Vincent was, and how Violet could live with them in the apartment they shared.

Vincent had a few happy memories, but the best one was when he heard his daughter yell with joy as she ran to him.

"DADDY!"

Vincent sighed, putting on his now blue uniform. He liked the color. It was better than his purple one. Somehow, Scott had gotten him his old job back. Something about psychology and other crap. Vincent didn't care in the slightest, just happy to have a job to help pay the bills. Scott had evidently liked the area, so he, Violet, and Vincent all lived in the same apartment. Still, Vincent had felt guilty living off Scott's salary. Scott walked up to him, looking him over.

"Nice suit, but your tie looks terrible. Here, let me fix it," He told him, grabbing his tie and pulling Vincent close. Vincent cheeks burned red. Scott's face and his were nearly touching! When Scott finally fixed his tie, they sat on the couch. Vincent's work started in an hour, so they had some time to kill.

He really needed to stop making death puns.

"You know, if you had stayed that day, we could have been brothers," He says softly, because he knows how much Scott's father loved having him around, and he knows that Scott would have fought for him tooth and nail. Scott nods, before slyly smiling.

"Well, if we had become brothers, I wouldn't be able to do this," The next thing Vincent knew, Scott was pressing his lips to his own, eyes shut tight and hoping. Vincent was frozen, eyes wide, face flushed.

_Holy shit. This is happening._

He hoped Violet didn't come in. She would probably freak out. He grabbed Scott's head and pushed deeper, and Scott pulled away smiling. "Jeez, at least take me out to dinner first," And Vincent laughed, a beautiful sound, and Scott resolved to hear as often as he could.

* * *

Epilogue Part 1:

* * *

When Mike saw Vincent walk in with a Fazbear employee uniform, his eyeballs nearly popped out of his head. The animatronics noticed him too, glaring as harshly as they could. Vincent looked around nervously, before seeing Mike and running over with a smile.

"Hey Mikey!" He exclaimed. Jeremy walked up behind him, a worried look on his face.

"Hey Vincent, why don't you start setting up the tables?" Mike told him, noticing Jeremy wanted to talk. If the elaborate gestures were any indication. Once Vincent had started working, Jeremy leaned in close.

"Umm, the animatronics really~ don't like Vincent. When I told them he was going to start working here, they flipped out! The only reason they haven't hurt him yet is because it's daytime!" He whispered frantically, and Mike's eyes flickered to glowing yellow ones behind a purple curtain. They were on. He sighed.

_Well, shit. This is going to be a long day. _

Vincent looked over his work, making sure it was as perfect as possible. He didn't want to mess up on his first day, after all. The animatronics were creeping him out though. Where was Foxy? Surely they didn't scrap him? He looked to Pirate's Cove, only to the curtain shut with an out of order sign in front.

_Well then._

He tripped with a yelp, falling headfirst onto the floor. He got up, looking around. Freddy was right beside him, eyes staring down, that toothy smile seemingly wider.

"Hey Freddy. Long time no see eh?" He smiled nervously.

_Freddy couldn't have tripped me, right?_

It didn't matter, and he ran to unlock the doors. People were waiting outside!

* * *

The rest of the day went rather...rough. No matter where he went, he was always tripping over things, and an animatronic was always around him. Once, a child had tugged his hand.

"Mister, which one is which?" The little boy had asked, and Vincent smiled kindly down at him, kneeling down to the boy's level.

"Well, you see," He began, pointing at each animatronic. "That one is Bonnie, the yellow one is Chica, and the bear is Freddy! See?" He looked to the boy, who smiled.

"Yup! Thanks Mister!" He replied, giving him a hug before running up to the stage. Vincent got up, brushing his pants off and getting back to work. He noticed Chica staring at him strangely, but ignored her. He swept up the back area, it was filthy, and as the show ended, he went up to sweep that area as well. He tripped over a purple paw, falling off the stage. With he got up, rubbing his sore nose, which had hit the floor pretty hard.

_**Well then. Only a few months without me and you're already getting pushed around.**_

Vincent looked around to see Vince as a purple apparition, waving at him. What the hell was he doing here?! Promptly ignoring him, Vincent looked to his hand, that was just covering his nose.

_Blood?!_

That sticky feeling on his hands were back, and he ran to the restroom.

_**Jeez, what a baby. How am I gonna make sure you're alright when you're practically falling apart already?**_

Vincent ignored him again, washing his hands with steamy water. He heard the bathroom door open, and turned to see Bonnie and Freddy looking at him.

"H-hey guys! Umm, I just got to clean up after that fall I took," His voice wavered. Why were they staring at him like that?! Just then, Mikey ran in.

"The Hell are you two doing?! Get back on stage! The kids are waiting for you!" He yelled, and the two walked out. Vincent turned back to the mirror, wiping the blood off his face.

_**Well, I'll be off. Mikey's got this.**_

With that, he disappeared. Vincent looked over to Mikey, who was staring at him strangely. "Vincent, word of advice. Stay away from the animatronics. People may have forgotten what you've done, but they sure as Hell haven't," He told him, before walking back out. Vincent was frozen for a moment.

_Figures that they'd remember._

With a sigh, he walked back out, looking around at the crowd. The animatronics were wading through the children, who swung from their arms and climbed all over them. He could barely see the fur on them with how the children were covering them. He stayed far away, sweeping around by Pirate's Cove. He hissed in pain at the pain of being slashed, turning to see yellow eyes and a shining hook that dripped with blood.

_Foxy?_

He took a step back, placing a hand where he had been cut, and walked to the most secluded area he could find.

_If it's like this everyday, I'll die!_

_**And that would be bad for both you and me.**_

He groaned. Vince was back.

_**What, not even scared of me now?**_

_Why should I be? I already kicked your ass, and I've got plenty of medication._

_**True.**_

He sighed, eyes staring at the dirty floor, and silently swept.

* * *

Mike watched worriedly as Vincent went throughout his day. He noticed the animatronics tripping him wherever he went, but Vincent seemed oblivious to their hostility.

When they drew blood, Mike saw it as the last straw.

"What the Hell's wrong with you two?! You're gonna kill him!" He whispered angrily at them. They glared back at the bathrooms, before turning back to him.

"So what?! He's got some nerve coming back here to work anyway!" Bonnie whispered back, just as angry. Mike sighed, rubbing a hand over his scalp.

"Look I...I'll explain tonight, okay? Just...leave Vincent alone," He grumbled, walking away. Freddy sighed, grabbing Bonnie's shoulder and dragging him back to the children.

* * *

That Night:

* * *

Mike walked in, and the four walked up to him, without their usual greeting.

"Mikey, lad, what be the meanin' o' this? Vincent be workin' here again!" Foxy exclaimed, waving his hook around.

"Yeah, I know, and don't think I didn't notice the cut you made on him," Mike snapped back, and Foxy looked at the ground in shame. Chica stepped forwards.

"Mikey, what's the meaning of this? Why is Vincent here again? He hurt the childre-"

"It _**wasn't him**_ dammit!" Mike shouted, because _god damn he was tired of people assuming shit!_ The others stared at him with wide eyes.

"What?" Freddy asked, incredulous.

"Well, it was him, but not Vincent, err...something like that," He continued, but stopped at the sound of the door opening. Vincent walked in much slower than in the morning, still holding his side,but smiled at Mikey.

"Hey Mikey! You said you wanted me to come over tonight?" He said kindly, but shrunk back at the glares of the four animatronics. "Umm...Mikey?" He asked uncertainly. Mike sighed, looking up at the animatronics expectantly, and they backed off slightly.

"Vincent, could you _please _explain who was responsible for the...incident, because they blame you," He asked exasperatedly. Vincent fidgeted in place for a moment.

"Well, I have this...mental disorder called Multiple Personality Disorder…"

* * *

By the end of his tale, Vincent was shaking. He _hated _talking about the incident, hated reliving it. He rubbed his hands together. They felt sticky again. The animatronics stared at him with harsh eyes. Chika's softened slightly, and Freddy stepped forward.

"I don't know if we can trust you, but I guess we can stop screwing up you all day," He told him bluntly, wincing at the bruise around Vincent's nose and the cut on his side. Vincent gave a small smile.

"I guess that's all I could hope for," He replied. He looked around, glancing at the piano, and smiled a little wider. "Do any of you guys know how to play?" He asked, and they shook their heads.

"It's just for show. We don't play it at all. I'm the only one who really plays an instrument," Bonnie said offhandedly, staring at him with contempt. Vincent walked up, dusting off the keys, testing a few out. He sat down, taking a deep breath, and stretching his hands. With a swift movement, his fingers skittered across the piano, music filling the room as he played a flurry of notes, everything else fading away. He smiled wide. He hadn't done this in forever! Not since that time with Scott. He loved the rush when he played, the euphoria he got into, even when the song was a depressing one, which this one was. He sighed, quietly singing the last verse.

"_If I make another move, if I take another step._

_Then it would all fall apart, there'd be nothing of me left._

_If I'm crying in the wind, if I'm crying in the night._

_Will there ever be a way, will my heart return to white?_

_Can you tell me who you are? Can you tell me where I am?_

_I've forgotten how to see, I've forgotten if I can._

_If I open up my eyes, there'd be no more turning back._

'_Cause I'd throw it all away, and it all would fade to black~."_

He played the last notes before getting up, looking up to the wide eyes of Mikey and the animatronics.

"Th-that's Bad Apple! It's extremely hard to play!" Chica exclaimed, and Vince rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Well, I kinda just...taught myself how to play it," He told them, and Chica's jaw dropped to the floor. Literally. She bent over and picked up, putting it back in place, mumbling about 'crack pot mechanics.' "I used to play all the time, but then…," He trailed off. What was the point of telling them anyway? They didn't care. Besides, words only caused more problems, and truth only revealed more lies. He sighed. He really needed to stop being so depressing.

_Jeez, it's hot in here. _

He took off his sweater, before freezing. He was wearing a t-shirt, so they could see his scars.

_Well, most of them anyway._

They stared at him, eyes searching, and he felt vulnerable, weak. Mike walked up, eyes holding a mixture of pity and anger.

"What the Hell is this?" He demanded, looking at the scars on his neck.

"W-w-well, I didn't have to go to a psychologist for nothing," Vincent tried to joke, but Mike's eyes grew sharper and colder, piercing blue looking into to soft silver.

_**Tough crowd, hm?**_

Vincent looked down, ashamed. "Some of them weren't from me, you know," He mumbled, and Mike's eyes now begged for answers, the animatronics now huddled close to them, curiosity getting the best of them, along with pity. Vincent scratched his scars nervously before explaining.

_He was walking out of the courtroom, being ushered to a car by men in black suits, when a woman in her thirties barreled through the crowd around him, kicking him to the ground._

"_**YOU SICK FUCK! THAT WAS MY DAUGHTER!**_" _She screamed, grabbing a knife out of her purse and stabbing him in the arm, but he didn't make a sound, just watched with dead eyes as she was dragged away. He felt himself being picked up, but he didn't really care. Snippets of words reached his ears._

"_going into shock...need to...sedate."_

_Then, everything went black._

He shifted uncomfortably in place, looking at anything but Mikey, only to find the man hugging him quickly, before ushering him out of the pizzeria.

"Better let the fuckboys take in the information. Go home and get some rest, okay?" He said, before going back inside. Vincent sighed, and walked home.

* * *

"_Daddy, stop!"_

"_**Now, who wants some cake?**_"

_Screams everywhere, blood pouring in rivulets, staining the world a dark red._

"_DADDY"_

"Violet!" Vincent gasped, waking with a start, and two strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back towards Scott.

"Shh...Vincent, it was just a dream, alright?" Scott sounded tired, but it was a usual thing t have Vincent wake up in the middle of the night, the horrors he had seen haunting him forever never leaving. He shook, the feeling of the stale air in the dream seemingly whisping around his skin, but Scott was pulling him closer, soft snoring like a lullaby. He smiled softly. It was warm and wonderful, everything he thought he could never have now at his fingertips.

He sighed in content and fell asleep.

_The rest of the night, no nightmares ever appeared, because when they were about to, Scott's snores and love chased them away._

* * *

**WOAH THAT TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE! Anyway, I'll probably make a side series of one-shots about this, so be on the look out! Oh, and thanks for sticking around!**


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